


Grief

by BloodyAbattoir



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), F/M, Love, Suicidal Thoughts, The Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-09-30 20:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: After Belle's death, Rumplestiltskin has nothing left to live for. Slowly, madness sets in, and whatever humanity he had left quickly dissipates.





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> The bit about suicidal thoughts isn't too serious, is likely canon-compliant and only mentioned in passing, but is tagged anyway for those who are sensitive to it.

It was only after the Evil Queen had informed him that Belle was dead that Rumpelstiltskin had truly realized he loved Belle. The incident in his castle but a few weeks earlier could've been a fluke, at least that's what he told himself at the time. Now, however, he realized the painful reality. Not only did Belle love him, but he <strike>loves </strike> loved her in return. He will never be able to express this to her, and his regret is insurmountable. 

In the Dark Castle, every memento of Belle's existence is a land mine waiting to go off. Soon, Rumple confines himself to but a few rooms, rooms that he knows that nothing of hers exists in, rooms that he knows she has never entered, never touched. He cannot bear to even cast eyes upon the things that she has touched, the things that she has changed. He briefly considers moving to another abode, one that Belle had never set foot inside, leaving behind all but the most important of his possessions. He quickly discards the notion like a hot coal. Having nothing to remember her by would be even worse than being surrounded by constant reminders of her.

The memories assault him like a sword between the ribs, ripping him apart from the inside out until he's certain he will drive himself mad from the memories of her that play out inside his mind every waking moment. Even in his sleep, he finds no rest, no peace. His dreams are filled with the by-products of his own overactive mind, embellishing on the scant facts that Regina had told him of Belle's last days. He finds himself shooting awake, screams crawling past his ruined teeth, heart pounding in his chest, as he tries to shake the dreams from his head, the image of Belle screaming for him to save her burning him worse than any fire, any curse could ever hope to. 

For a period of time, he considers suicide. After all, why not? Being the Dark One has only brought about the deaths of the two people he held dearest. It was a curse he wouldn't wish upon anyone else. More tempting, however, was the notion that if he did end his existence he would be reunited with Belle, and eventually, Baelfire. It was a proposition that had seen him holding that thrice accursed dagger to his chest, his throat, more than just a few times. 

In the end however, his cowardice won out yet again. He never progressed beyond the point of pressing it against his scaly flesh hard enough to draw a couple of drops of blood, wounds that were quickly healed out of a sense of shame and nothing more. Soon, the only reason that he bothered to get out of bed in the morning was the Curse that would transport everyone to the land without magic. He knew that once he was there, he would eventually find Baelfire, and maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to make amends. This fixation, too vague and far off to be a cure for his grief, was a band-aid of sorts for his soul, a stopgap measure, and while it did not bring him joy, it was something to focus on. 

Now, his dreams were a mixed bag, half nightmares of being unable to save Belle, half dreams of reuniting with his son. 

After the curse was cast, Rumpelstiltskin, no, Mr. Gold, remembered. He remembered who he was, why he was here, who he hoped to find. The dreams of finding Baelfire have become more prominent, more pressing, as time ticks away. Twenty-eight years is simultaneously an eternity and the blink of an eye, and time and time again, Rumpelstiltskin must remind himself that there is a good chance that by the time they are reunited, his son will be a grown man, with children of his own.

The fear that he will not accept his father back into his life, that he will have moved on and want nothing to do with him grows larger and larger in his mind, until the dreams turn to nightmares and Mr. Gold finds himself dreading nightfall. The large house he lives in, a mansion, really, is nowhere near as large as the Dark Castle once was, but it is too large, too lonely for one old man with a bum leg. Time and time again, he ponders the idea of selling the house, moving to a small flat in town. He wonders if it will help him, to live in a smaller abode, to have neighbors that he can hear through the walls, if any of it will make him feel less alone. 

Eventually, he catches himself. He knows that it is but a pretty pipe dream, a foolish notion. Everyone here is terrified of Mr. Gold, even if they do not know why. They'd never want to live next to him, would never dare be neighbourly, whether from fear or hatred, he isn't sure. Besides, nothing ever changes in Storybrooke. Nobody ever sells a home, nobody ever buys one, moves in or out of anywhere. He couldn't sell his grand home and move into a tiny shoe box even if he wanted to, for a want of available shoe boxes. 

Rumpelstiltskin floats through the next several years, a tormented existence not unlike that of the time after he lost Belle, albeit a bit less intense, a bit less sharp. The sense of loss is still there, the ache in his blackened heart, the void in his soul that he cannot fill, cannot get rid of, and yet, the urgency behind it is lost, the desire for death is gone. He has settled into a state of being almost comfortably numb, punctuated by the odd nightmare, the odd crying fit after he awakens, after he is inadvertently dragged out of his state of numbness and made to remember what he has lost. 

Belle still crosses his mind, fleeting and brief, half formed thoughts that he does not dare to allow to grow any further, lest they tip his already precarious mental state. Once in a blue moon, he is reminded, almost jarringly so, of the love that he held and lost. Sometimes, it is walking past the boarded up library, and the thought it slips into his mind - _How Belle would love this building! _Other times, it is when he pours himself a cup of tea, and wryly thinks that this time, Belle is not here to chip his china.

He changes his patterns the best he can to avoid this, taking a slightly longer route to avoid walking past the library building, giving up tea in favour of coffee. As much as he wants to deny it, she is still a store spot in his heart, too raw and painful to even consider thinking about most of the time, possibly even more so than his son. After all, Mr. Gold reasons, Baelfire was still alive, _is still alive_, somewhere in the great wide world without magic; Belle is dead and gone. There is a hope, even if feeble at best, of righting the wrongs with his son. At minimum, he still has a chance to apologize to him.

Those are things that he will never be able to do with Belle. 

The better part of the next three decades floats by in monotony, punctuated by bursts of nightmares, half formed dreams, with the odd interaction in town to make things slightly more interesting. He knows now that he, and perhaps, Regina, are the only two in this town that remembers where they are truly from, who they really are. Nobody else remembers him as anything other than Mr. Gold, a shrewd old man with no wife or children to speak of, but a cruel streak a mile wide. He can't help but question if it isn't better off this way, better off that none would ever remember him as the Dark One, ever remember him as having any soft spots, weaknesses. After all, he reasons, if nobody knows of his weaknesses, they will never be able to exploit them again.

It is this last sentiment that ensures that when Regina goes to him seeking a child, he ensures that it is the son of the Savior that he returns with in a bassinet, as opposed to any of the other children that he could've secured for her. Indeed, it would've been less time, less effort, for him to simply pluck a child from the foster system in Boston, rather than slide sideways through red tape to get to the boy Regina would ultimately name Henry. The irony is not lost on him, that she would name him after her father, the same man she killed with her own hands to further her crooked agenda.

He says nothing of it, however. Mr. Gold knows nothing of the Enchanted Forest; to him, those are fairy tales you'd tell your little children, nothing anyone above the age of ten should take seriously. Time and time again, he questions why he went out of his way to bring Henry to the Evil Queen, for that is indeed what she is, whether she wants to acknowledge it or not, and at times, he is even ashamed of himself. Regina has ripped away the last thing he truly loved, and now, he wanted her to feel the same, collateral damage be damned.

Eventually, he reasons, the Savior will come to town, and destroy her curse. She will be left with less than nothing, just like Rumplestiltskin was. Not for the first time, he thinks that he would gladly give up his power, his comfort and riches in this world without magic, just to rid himself of the crippling loneliness, the hole in his heart. It is in this fashion that he stumbles through life in Storybrooke, not quite as asleep as the rest of the town inhabitants, but not quite as aware as he would otherwise be. He is in a stupor, comfortably numb for the most part, and for the time being, it suffices his needs. 

The day that Emma Swan rolls into town, however, the fog that has coated his brain since he has come to this dratted world, save for the few brief instances of painful lucidity, dissipates. 

He puts up a good front for the time being, like nothing is wrong, like he knows nothing. When he is finally in the safety of his shop again, Rumpelstiltskin snaps, leaving a wake of carnage behind him. The pain of busted knuckles brings him back to reality, and it is only then that he starts to cry, overwhelmed by the emotions that he has, for the better part of the past several decades, bottled up, forgotten and shoved aside. It is then that he realizes that a reunion with his son is both closer than ever before, and yet, further than it has ever been. It is no longer some vague possibility, but now, it is a reality, a reality that looks more impossible and improbable by the day. 

He makes up his mind, in perhaps the boldest choice that he has ever made, that he will help Emma break Regina's curse, no matter the cost. Of course, he reminds himself, he is a grown man; in this world, grown men do not believe in fairy tales, in curses, in Evil Queens and Saviours. In this world, only little children, younger than Henry, believe such a thing. He will leave the more abstract concept of getting Emma to believe in the curse to her son; Mr. Gold favours a more hands-on approach, and will keep his feet, both whole and crippled, firmly in this world, assisting her in the more 'practical' aspects of her day-to-day, keeping her in Storybrooke as long as he can. 

In doing so, he knows that he is stepping on many toes in this town, Regina's being at the very tip top of that list. He cannot bring himself to care, the possibility of seeing Bae again winning out over his common sense at times. He knows that he has drawn the Evil Queens ire by keeping Hansel and Gretel from being shipped off to Boston, has drawn her rage by helping Emma to run for Sheriff and win, her _hatred _by pointing David Nolan in the right direction the first night he met with Mary Margaret at the Toll Bridge. None of it matters anymore. At this point, he is just as invested as Henry in breaking the curse, if not more so. 

He has stashed away the potion to bring back True Love, has gotten the Saviour to retrieve it for him. Now, it is stashed away in his workshop, along with that thrice damned teacup that he both desires to rid himself of, and yet, cannot bring himself to. It is the last physical memento of Belle that he has in this miserable world without magic; woe unto anyone who steals it from him, as Moe French has found out the hard way. Of course, he knows that Moe would not steal from him of his own free will, of his own volition, being too much of a coward to even consider it, too much of an idiot to know what the teacup meant.

Regina is behind it, of that he is certain. No one else in this miserable town had any notion of what the teacup meant, what it still means to him. To anyone else, it is merely a chipped piece of china, no matching set, not worth anything, not even the effort to steal it from him. After his rage is worn out, after Moe has been beaten to a bloody mess and Mr. Gold is forced to sit there with his thoughts, something occurs to him. 

Certainly, Regina may have asked Moe to steal the cup just to torment him further. After all, such a thing wouldn't be out of character for someone who reviled in being the villain. And yet, the idea that she tasked the man to steal it _only _to get inside his head falls flat. Surely there must be more to it. 

For the first time in next to forever, Rumplestiltskin feels a flicker of hope. 

The insanity in his mind flickers, and for a moment, just for a moment, a thought crawls into his head unbidden. What if? What if the reason that she had the cup stolen was because she was _afraid? _But what could the Evil Queen be afraid of? No, no, afraid was the wrong word, she wasn't afraid, at least, not in the conventional sense. Another 'what if' pops into his head, this one more intriguing. What if the reason she wanted the cup gone was because it contained memory? More specifically, it contained memory that he would need? 

A final thought slithered into his head, making his blood run cold. What if the memory he would need was tied to Belle? Perhaps Regina was considering wiping the memories of the residents of Storybrooke even further. What if he forgot his son, forgot his lost lover? The thought of this keeps him up at night, tearing at his hair in a panic. From that point on, it is rare that he lets the chipped cup out of his sight. 

He is not expecting it, and yet, it does not entirely take him by surprise when the door to his shop jangles, and he sees her standing there. He has imagined, hallucinated her standing there so many times before, but this time it is no hallucination. Her hair is a rats nest and she has dark circles under her eyes. She does not recognize him, but whether that is because she had only ever seen him as the Dark One, or whether it is due to her memory being wiped he cannot tell. His heart breaks all over again as she says that she was told that Mr. Gold would be able to protect her, would keep her safe. 

This time, he vows that he will keep her safe, regardless of the cost.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've somehow gotten through my drunken rambling and all the way to the end, you're the MVP here.


End file.
